Mockingmist
by saoirseronans
Summary: "My dear Mr Crane, do you have any idea of the hell you've unleashed on this world?" A Hunger Games AU with original characters. Rated T just in case. R&R.
1. Prologue

_Hello there, thank you for clicking on my story! It's call __**Mockingmist**__ and it's a Hunger Games AU fanfiction. This is something I've been planning for a while now and I'm quite proud of it so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing._

_Some things you might like to know:_

_1. It is set just after the feast scene from The Hunger Games._

_2. I am completely open to any constructive criticism or feedback; in fact, I'd love it!_

_3. The main characters will be my own inventions, although canon characters will appear later on._

_4. I'm not sure how regular updates will be, but I'm hoping to have every other week or so. Or they may just be random._

_Okay, now we've got that out the way, here you have the prologue of __**Mockingmist**__. Enjoy!_

_Love, _

_Isabelle xx_

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Prologue

The man walked through the tunnel. With every step, his boots sent an echo bouncing off the cold, silver lining of the corridor, which curved above his head. Inside his soft, custom made leather gloves, his fingers were rough and blistered, his stigma to show for over forty years' hard work. Or maybe they were stigma from something else.

As he walked past the Peacekeepers lining the corridors they bowed, awkwardly, from the waist, their visors covering their faces. They respected him. Or feared. He didn't really care either way. Whichever it was, it made them obedient. Obedience was the key.

The tunnel started to widen and the overhead lights dimmed, as he drew nearer to his goal. The clicks of his boots started to echo louder, sending a warning that he was coming to everyone in front of him. The corridor walls, with their engraved frosted roses, fell away to leave a large, open room with a ceiling several dozen feet high and a width about the same. The room was windowless and had the same metal walls as the corridor had, but with red drapes falling from balconies high up above the ground. The symbol of the Capitol, stitched with real golden silk, flew from them proudly.

The man walked into the centre of the room, quietly. It was practically empty, but for one risen platform at it's centre with two posts on top. One post, the one slightly more to the centre than the other, had a rope dangling down. A man, with slick black hair and rich clothes, had that rope looped around his neck. As the other man walked towards him, he looked up and gave a crooked smile.

'Coriolanus,' he sneered. 'What a pleasure.'

'Mr Crane,' Coriolanus replied, with none of the former's bitter tone. 'As ever.'

Two Peacekeepers, who had followed Coriolanus into the room, came up behind the two men. With a wave of his hand, their master dismissed them and they fell back, making their way back towards the rose tunnel. As soon as they had passed over the line, a sliding glass door closed behind them, trapping them apart from Coriolanus. From the platform, he could see the two men pause, watching them from behind the glass.

'They don't trust me.'

'No,' Coriolanus replied. 'No, Seneca, they don't. But with good reason.'

Seneca Crane let out a little laugh. 'Ah, yes. But, as you can clearly see, my hands are now tied.'

'Hmm.' Coriolanus pursed his lips as he studied Seneca hard. 'Mr Crane, do you understand the severity of what you've done?'

'Why, no, I don't, my dear President. Would you care to remind me?'

The man was toying with him. Coriolanus could see that, but he carried on. 'You sabotaged my Games. I trusted you to carry them out fairly and justly. We had a deal.'

'Of course, because it's completely fair to ask children to murder one another,' Seneca said sarcastically. 'Silly me.'

'When the tributes came back from the Arena,' Coriolanus continued, ignoring the interruption. 'You stole their bodies from the aircrafts. You revived them, brought them back to life. Cheated death. You kept them hidden from me, in your own secret laboratory.' He clucked his teeth. 'I don't like it when people keep secrets, Mr Crane.'

'Evidently. So, tell me. I am enjoying this little story session we have going on. What did I do next?'

Coriolanus stared at him, warily, but tried not to show that he was being thrown off course. 'Surely you know that, Mr Crane. You announced a Feast for our tributes, always so generous. Alas, during the feast, just before a death, you committed the ultimate treason.' He leant forward do he was just inches away from Seneca's face. 'You crashed the Games, Mr Crane.'

'Is that a little like crashing a party? Because I do enjoy a good party.'

'You extracted the tributes from the Arena and took them to your laboratory, but we had already found out about your little secret and your lab.' He shook his head. 'Really, Mr Crane, hiding them in the Capitol? Of course we were going to find you. We always will.'

'So you got me.' Seneca hung his head in mock-shame. 'What happens next, Coriolanus? Pray tell. I'm dying to hear.'

Coriolanus hesitated and Seneca noticed, with a grin, and latched onto it instantaneously. 'Oh, come now, old friend. It's not as if I'm ever going to be able to tell anyone, is it?' He lifted his head, wryly. 'I am, after all, a dead man.'

He knew he had him. Coriolanus knew it too. He could never resist a chance to crow over his successes. 'Don't call me friend, Mr Crane. I am not your friend.'

'My apologies.'

'We raided your laboratory. Tried to recapture all the tributes. Alas, though, most escaped. To various places, outside the districts, I suppose. Some, I have no doubt, made it to 13.'

'Ah!' Seneca's eyes lit up. 'To Coin?'

'Most likely. The mentor of District 12 disappeared too, to 13, I presume, along with several member of that district.'

'The Everdeen family,' Seneca guessed.

'Most likely. And the Hawthorne, I presume,' Coriolanus added. 'Although most escaped, however, my men were able to take charge of four tributes. All female, but that is not a problem. Solutions can be found.'

'Which of the girls?'

'None of your concern.'

'Hmm. What are you going to do now you have them though? Solutions for what? Four teenage girls, what can they offer you?'

Coriolanus paused. 'My dear, dear Seneca. Surely you have figured it out by now. You, with your smarts and intellect.' He stepped back from the podium. 'Did you really think they could be saved from the imminent? Did you honestly think that you could become some sort of sadistic hero for the nation?' He shook his head and felt just a tiny amount of relish at the stunned expression on Seneca Crane's face. 'Did you think you could beat me?'

'But…I don't…' Seneca began to stammer. Coriolanus started to chuckle, a sinister chuckle that rose up until it filled all of the room and overflowed into the Capitol.

'My dear Mr Crane,' he crooned. 'Do you have any idea of the hell you've unleashed on this country?'

Seneca's face went white with shock, an unusual sight for the usually unflappable man, but before he could open his mouth again, Coriolanus gave a brief nod to someone over the balcony and the trapdoor beneath Seneca's feet fell away and, with a short cry of surprise, the man dropped.

President Coriolanus Snow watched calmly as the body jerked and thrashed. He continued to watch it writhe until the last of the life had gone from it and the body finally hung still. Then, with a sad shake of his head, he turned on his heel and walked slowly back to the glass doors, which slide open just before he reached them and back shut again once he was over the line.

Behind him, the body of Seneca Crane, Gamemaker to the 74th Annual Hunger Games, hung lifelessly from his noose until someone came to cut it down and put it in a box.

Snow made his way back up through the rose corridor and across his palace until he reached his study. He sat down in the luxurious chair by his desk and turned in it slightly, so he was facing out of the large, glass window onto the streets below. People walked past, his people. How unaware they were. How blissfully unaware. Snow shook his head and turned back to his desk to take up a pen and begin writing out some important orders.

So, he thought to himself. Today is the beginning of it all.

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_Well, that's the prologue! I'd love to know your thoughts, if there was anything you didn't understand, etc. so please leave a review or you can message me on tumblr. My url is littlefuhrman :)_

_Thank you for reading!_


	2. Chapter 1: Emily

_Hi again! Well, I hope you enjoyed the prologue and now we can get down to the nitty gritty of the story. In this chapter, you get to meet our heroine. I hope you like her because I certainly do._

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Chapter 1: Emily

I wake up to broken sunlight streaming in though the worn, brown plaid curtains. They have holes in them, holes that I always mean to mend but never quite have the motivation. Time was also an issue in that; between rounding up the cattle, taking the girls to school and keeping the house and farm, mending a pair of curtains seemed far too trivial in the grand scheme of things. The angle and over all dimness of the light beaming though lets me guess that it is still early, maybe only six o'clock. It's only just dawn.

I sigh and pull the thin bed sheet up further on my chest. I don't have to get up for a while yet, not today. I can probably sleep for another hour at least…

'Emily.' It comes as a whisper, a childish voice close by my ear. I screw my eyes tightly shut and draw the covers up to my chin. Maybe, if I pretend to be asleep, she'll go away.

'_Emily_.' It's still a whisper, but more intense, more a hiss really. I feel small fingers with scraggly nails dig into my arm and tug. 'Emily!'

It's no good. She's not going to go away. I moan gently and open one eye. A pair of inquisitive, brown ones stare steadily back at me, along with a freckled face and turned up nose.

'Rosie,' I whisper to her, rubbing the sleep from the corners of my eyes. 'It's too early still. Go back to bed.'

'Can't. And s'not too early. The clock's hands are on the seven and the twelve.'

It's seven o'clock. I must be getting rusty with my time guessing. I groan again and shut my eyes.

'Emily.' The persistent hissing starts up again, along with a slightly stronger pulling. '_Emily_. We need to go feed the pets. Now, before they get hungry.'

'They're not pets, Rosie,' I tell her gently. 'And can't I just have five more minutes…?'

'No!'

I give up. I'm never going to win this.

Sighing heavily, I swig my legs around the side of the bed and shift off. Beneath my feet the floor board creaks and I freeze, but Alicky, fast asleep and snoring in the bed opposite, doesn't even stir. She's supposed to share with Rosie, but she always flings her arms and legs out so much that Rosie often comes crawling into my bed instead. I hurry around our drafty room, grabbing a thin cotton dress, the once vibrant pattern well faded, and throw it on over a pair of leggings. I just have time to chuck my hair up in a messy ponytail before Rosie has snatched my hand and is pulling me down the landing. As we clump down the stairs, I notice an old cardigan hanging from the banisters. I take it off and shrug it on, almost falling as Rosie pulls me down the stairs. It's one of Jamie's, which means it's far too big for me and has that scent he has of mint, but it serves the purpose of keeping me warm and that's all that matters.

Rosie and I trample through the kitchen and clatter over the cobbles to the back door, where our boots are waiting. I help her to get hers on, then slip my feet into my own. They're old now, being Isaac's before they were mine, but they're comfortable and fit me.

'Got the bucket?' I ask her and Rosie nods, shaking the iron bucket of slops enthusiastically at me. Opening the door, she charges out and hurries down the narrow garden to the stables at the end of it. Our garden is in very bad shape, I know that, but along with fixing curtains, it didn't exactly rate very high on my priorities list. Rosie tumbles through the weeds, kicking at the odd bits of rubble we have scattered around. I follow her, picking my way slightly more carefully.

High above us, birds are beginning to caw at the sky and the sun is just peeking up over the top of the trees, in the distance. The light casts strange shadows everywhere and bathes the world in a soft orange glow, like the last embers of a candle that is just about to go out. Isaac and Jamie will be at work already, maybe even on their way home.

I perch on the stone steps going down to the stable while Rosie dolls out the food to the animals. In District 10 everyone keeps cattle, as well as other livestock, in their own gardens, as well as in the fields that everyone helps to maintain. We have three cows of our own, four goats, two sheep and several dozen chickens, all of which need feeding and looking after, the job that tends to fall to me.

Rosie adores all animals, big or small, and when I want to find her it's almost guaranteed that she'll be out here, petting them and chattering away in her small voice. She may only be six, but she's named every single one of our animals and can remember which one's which, recognising them in a crowd. None of us quite have the heart to tell her that one day we'll have to sell them, to pay for the food we put in her stomach. For now, we're letting her believe that they truly are her 'pets'. Maybe it's crueller that way, or maybe it's kinder. I can't tell yet.

I rest my head on my knees and listen to her gentle, babyish voice cooing over the chickens, who cluck enthusiastically in response. I am already thinking about the day ahead, plotting meals and routes, and trying not to panic about what I have to do, and alone.

'Emily?' I look up quickly, and smile at my sister, just in case she thought something was wrong and needs reassurance.

'What is it, baby?'

'Why aren't we going to school today?' she asks, dropping the bucket and plonking heavily down next to me on the step.

I hesitate. 'Well, um, it's complicated.' She waits, blinking her big eyes patiently for me to continue. 'Do you remember when we all went to the square a few weeks ago, and Isaac and I had to go stand in the middle?'

Rosie nods solemnly. 'And Jamie got us ice-cream after,' she breathes, her eyes shining. Ice-cream was a rare, much revered treat that came once or twice a year in our house.

'Yes. Well, when we were there two children got chosen to play…a game. But the game went wrong so they need two more children to play the game. A new one. So, we need to go to see if I'll be picked to play the new game.'

'Not Isaac? Or me, or Alicky?'

'No, not you.' I take a deep breath and ruffle the top of her silky hair. I washed it last night, using some of the precious hot water, so it flops under my fingers. 'Isaac's too old now. He had his birthday the other week, didn't he?' She nods under my fingers. I shudder with the memory. Isaac turned eighteen, legally old enough to go work at the butchershop – that is, the slaughterhouse. 'And you and Alicky are too young,' I continue. _I hope you'll always be too young._

Rosie nods quietly and scatters some more grain for a few intrusive chickens who are clucking around our ankles. 'Emily?' she asks again.

I smile again. 'What is it, sweetpea?'

'Will they choose you to play the game?'

For the second time in five minutes, I shudder. Drawing the cardigan closer around me, I try to smile at her without wincing. 'I hope not, Rosie-pose.'

'Me too,' she says decidedly.

By the time we have made it back to our room, Alicky is already up. This in itself is a miracle; I struggle getting her up by six thirty for school, on weekends we rarely see her before ten, even though she has chores to do. However today, she's not only up, she's also dressed.

When Rosie and I trudge back into the bedroom, she's standing with her back to us, facing the mirror, just fixing the last few strands into her braid of hair. Alicky may only be eleven, but already it's quite clear to see that she's going to be an utter stunner when she's older. Well, she's a real stunner now, despite being barely five foot. With her thick mane of chestnut gold hair, bright blue eyes that shine with intelligence and freckle-less pink and white complexion, it's easy for any fool to see that my little sister is beautiful.

She smiles as we come in, spinning around in her best dress to face us. Actually, it was my best dress, one that I grew out of a couple of years ago. It's a plainly cut shirt dress, white with little springs of bluebells printed on it. It looks much better on her than it ever did on me, which is slightly depressing. Where the dress clung to me in all the wrong places, it clings to her in all the right.

'Should I dress Rosie while you get dressed?' she offers. I try not to look surprised. Usually, Alicky would do whatever it took to get out of doing any kind of work at all. But then again, I suppose today is not any ordinary day.

'Thank you,' I reply, smiling gratefully at her. 'That would be helpful.'

'I don't need help getting dressed!' Rosie objects, right on cue.

'Yes you do, you always get your dress on the wrong way!'

'Do not!'

'Do too!'

I scoop up my clothes and leave the room, shaking my head. However pretty she may be, Alicky is still eleven.

In our bathroom across the hall, I wash as fast as I can in the freezing cold water and then struggle into my own dress. It's the one item of clothing that I actually like and properly suits me. It's got a slightly more grown up element to it than the childish shirt dresses, with a proper neckline and a knee length hem. The dress itself is a pale yellow, one of the only colours on this earth that suit me well, and there is a thin ribbon sash to since in the waist. After dressing, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, hard.

I am never going to be as pretty as Alicky is. I've accepted that now, after years of bitter jealousy that did nothing to help me. My hair has none of her golden twist, just plain, dull brown, which only curls up at the tips. Sometimes, if we have enough time on our hands, Alicky will heat up the curling iron and curl my hair by the stove and tie it up with a ribbon. That doesn't happen often these days, though. My eyes are hazel, a colour that is lost in the crowd, helping me blend, rather than shine out and my freckles don't help either. I run my finger over the splattering of them that bridge over my nose and sigh. No amount of lemon juice stains them, believe me, I've tried.

My hands flatten down on my waist. I am not overweight (chance would be a fine thing in District 10) but I do have a certain softness to my body, which is small in any case, that is not exactly helping me in the desirable stakes. Where other girls have angles and sharp muscles for helping out in the fields, I am all curves and not the attractive ones either, not the ones that attract boys like bees to the honey pot. In all respects, I am entirely plain and boring. I tug at the bottom of my dress and feel my heart sink. I want to be pretty. I want to be giggly and girly, the kind of girl a boy could fall in love with. I was nice things, pretty things like dresses and make-up. I wonder what it's like to wear make-up.

'Emily!' The cry is followed by a crash; no doubt something in our room has been 'accidentally' pushed off the shelf. I sigh again and leave the bathroom, hurrying back to the scene of the crime. There are no pretty things for me here, and certainly no make-up.

'What have you done?' I groan, taking in the scene before me. Lying on the floor by my bed are my books, my most precious possessions, fallen from the shelf above my bed. Alicky and Rosie are standing next to them, hands behind their backs, the very image of adorable innocence.

'It wasn't our fault!' they both, predictably, chorus. I roll my eyes at them.

'You two are impossible,' I declare. Rosie giggles behind her palm and I hold out my hand for her. 'Come here, missy, you need your hair brushing. Al, pick up the books.'

Rosie hops onto my lap and lets me pull the hair brush over her tangled locks while Alicky, sighing tragically, scoops up the books one at a time. When she's finished, she eyes Rosie and me.

'I could do your hair, if you like?' she suggests, when I've finished. 'I know how to put it up really nicely.'

I consider this highly generous offer. 'I think I'll wear my hair down today, actually,' I decide. 'For a change.'

'Oh.'

I glance up and quickly smile at her, to soothe the guilty ache in my throat. 'Thanks for the offer, though, Al.' She smiles back at me and I take a deep breath, shifting Rosie off my lap. 'Right, girls, breakfast time, I think, don't you?'

The three of us clump down the stairs like elephants, our feet thundering on the wooden steps and jump into the cobble-floored kitchen. I spend a lot of time in the kitchen, being the main cook in the house and I try my best to make it the cosiest, cleanest room, since it's where we spend most of our time. The table has a white (almost) stainless cloth on it, the old rocking chair in the corner has a blanket covering the back and there are already drooping daisies on the window sill.

'Are those eggs?' Rosie gasps, stumbling forward to gape at the box of round, cream objects sitting in the middle of the table. I grin back at her, making my way to the stove, where I pull out a pan.

'They sure are. I'm going to fry them up, as a special treat, okay?' They both nod eagerly and Alicky goes to a drawer to take out the table mats.

'Rosie, can you get the cups, please?' I ask, cracking an egg into the pan. 'Isaac and Jamie will be home soon, then we'll eat.'

'Can I make some toast?' She clatters the cups onto the table and blinks up at me. 'Please?'

'One piece each.'

While Alicky gets the mismatched plates and cutlery out of the cupboards, Rosie runs to the larder and takes out five slices of bread and settles herself in front of the woodburner with a firepoker, to warm the bread. We work together in a familial silence that only sisters can achieve, each of us completely focused on our own tasks. I suppose that's one thing the Greene sisters have in common: when we have a job to do, we'll get it done, no questions asked. And it's why I love them.

The smell of egg is mouth-watering; I am close to serving them up without my brothers when I hear the front gate bang shut and the sound of male voices come up to the door.

'Where are my girls?' Isaac calls, flinging the door open.

'Isaaaaaac!' Rosie drops the poker and leaps up, jumping at him like a small animal.

'Rosie, the toast!' Alicky shrieks, swooping down to rescue our breakfast. She gathers the slices up and heaps them on a plate on the table.

'She's too big for you to carry like that,' I remark to Isaac as he swings Rosie up, much to her delight. Jamie slopes in after him, giving me a slow wink as he sinks down into his chair. 'She's too old now.'

'I am not!' Rosie squeaks in protest, as Isaac lets her slide down and back onto the floor.

'If you're big enough to dress yourself then you're too big to be carried,' Alicky teases her, then takes off running around the table as Rosie, a furious scowl on her little face, starts chasing her with the poker.

'No running in the kitchen!' I yell, slamming the eggs on the table, in a round pottery dish that belonged to our grandmother. 'Come and get it.'

My family descend on the food like they haven't eaten in a week. Once they have it on their plates, they dig in, content munches coming from all around. It gives a certain satisfaction, to know that the food you've made, even if it was only eggs, has been appreciated by four hungry stomachs. I pick up my own bread and get stuck in. Long after I've finished my own portion, the rest of them are still scrapping around the edge of the dish with crusts of toast, to get the last of the yoke out.

'Thanks, Em,' Isaac sighs, tossing the last of the bread into him mouth. 'Mmm, delicious.'

'My pleasure.'

Jamie says nothing, but he grins at me over the table, so I know he is grateful too. A man of few words, our Jamie. It takes a lot to get a speech out of him but when he does say words, he makes sure that they count.

I am just about to point to the cleaning rota we have pinned above the woodburner and demand that Isaac starts cleaning, when a bell starts to toll, far away in the square. All our heads jerk in unison to stare out the window. The previously clear day is gone, replaced by a heavy mist and clouds that threaten rain. I feel a shiver run down my spine and Alicky's hand creeps into my palm.

Until then, I'd completely forgotten that I had a Reaping to go to.

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I know, I know, it's predicable but what can you do? Thank you for reading and maybe leave a review? It would mean the world.

Isabelle x


	3. Chapter 2: Emily

_Thank you so much (A FELLOW FAN and Josie) for your reviews, I utterly adore you. Here is the second chapter and hello to any new readers, I adore you too for reading this._

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In District 10, the houses aren't arranged in hamlets, or streets, or at least most of them aren't. There are a few of the richer, trader families have houses in town but most are scattered randomly over the district, sometimes one house being a mile or so away from another. Although our export is livestock, most fields also grow barley, just to make use of the space. Our little farm house is set on a long lane that runs for about a mile and a half down to the town. Opposite us is a large barley field, that Rosie and Alicky play hide and seek in during the summer months.

Behind our house is the field we share with our neighbours, the Deansons, with all our livestock in. Every evening, I take the horse out of her paddock and my ropes off the hook and ride out to bring the cows back in for the night, to make sure the foxes don't get at them. That's the way it is here, every child does their part, even though you're not supposed to start work until you're eighteen.

When you turn twelve in District 10, you have two options: one, you can learn to lasso and go work in the fields. If you can't master the skills in less than a week, then you get sent to the Butchershop to work instead. It's grim in there, and it smells too. Even sitting in school during the winter, you can smell the stench of death moving in with the western winds. Your other option, however, is to go straight to the Butchershop. It gives better pay and for some families they need that. If you're under eighteen, you only have to work part time, after school hours but in the summer most kids just work then too. It gives them something to do and earns just that little extra.

I was lucky. Rope work came easily to me and it meant that, after my mother died, I didn't have to go far from Rosie and Alicky to work for our living. Isaac and Jamie, however, went straight to the Butchershop when they turned twelve. Now they're both over eighteen, they work the full hours: seven to nine, every day besides Sundays, when the hours are only seven till noon. It's hard work, but we can't exactly complain.

At least we're still together.

We take the north road, leading into the town. Both Alicky and Rosie clutch at my hands as we walk, Alicky because she knows what's about to happen and Rosie because it's what she does. I can hear Jamie and Isaac walking behind me and their familiar rhythmic footsteps calm me.

Along the way, we meet with other residents, who smile at us but keep their heads down. I suppose we are all lost in our own thoughts and fears. The sky has begun to clear again, the sun just peeking over the mist, just in time for the Reaping.

'Alright, Em?' Isaac squeezes at my shoulder in concern.

I smile at him, for the girls' sakes and nod. 'Of course.' I can't tell him the truth now; that just wouldn't be fair.

Entering the town is busy. Everyone seems to have turned up and everyone is intent on their own business, occupied with their own thoughts. Nearing the square, my heart starts to thump and my breathing quickens. Isaac comes up behind me and prises my sisters' hands away, taking them himself.

'We'll see you afterwards,' he tells me quietly and I nod, breathing deeply. This is my first Reaping alone. All the other times, he's been with me, to hold my hand. This time though, I walk alone.

'Okay.' I sigh and give Alicky a kiss on the forehead. She tries to smile, brave as ever and holds her chin up. That's my girl. Jamie nods at me over her head and I nod back. 'I'll see you soon,' I tell Rosie. Then I straighten up and turn away to get registered.

The Peacekeeper takes a small sample of my blood, just a prick on the tip of my little finger. I'm not squeamish about blood, you can't be in District 10. It's a part of life, everyday life. However, it's that little spark of red on my finger that turns my stomach and I have to hold my breath to keep the eggs back.

Once past the Peacekeepers, I surge forward with the other girls my age, all dressed in similar faded dresses. I recognise a few from school, but I don't make eye contact with them and they don't with me. It's better that way. The Justice building is up in front of us now, a large slice of grey amongst the drab beiges of the district. The bright red and gold of the Capitol flag, fluttering in the breeze, is the only strong colour in the whole of the square.

'Welcome!' I jump as the District 10 escort, Xavier Fitz booms up to the microphone, beaming down at us all. Xavier is a tall man, with a bright blue suit, covered with shining rhinestones. His skin is also tinted blue, the same electric shade as his eyes. He is like a rainbow trout in a sea of salmon. 'Welcome one and all! Ladies and gentlefolk! Isn't this a treat? A second Games in one year! You must all be so terribly excited.'

Oh, yes. We're bubbling over.

'In the Capitol, we have taken to calling it…' he pauses for dramatic effect. 'The Seventy-Fourth and a Half Annual Hunger Games.' He grins, so proud of his proclamation. 'How magnificent.'

Behind me, one girl lets out an audible snort and then a gasp. I bite my lip. A Peacekeeper will be knocking on her door first thing tomorrow morning.

'Now,' Xavier said with a satisfied sigh. 'Let's take a look at to which of you delightful young ladies I'll have the honour of accompanying to the Games this…well, this half year.' He totters over, on him platform shoes, to the large glass bowl that contains the names of all the girls aged between twelve and eighteen in District 10. My name is in there six times.

Xavier pulls out one small slip. I hear the scratch as it brushes against all the other ones, all the other girls who are safe for another year now. He stomps back to the microphone and clears his throat as he opens the slip, which sends a shock of feedback over the crowd.

'Emily Greene.'

I have never been in an aeroplane. Nor, actually, have I ever been above the ground for longer than I can jump for. But I've heard stories about going up in the air, going so high you go above the clouds, how the pressure makes your ears pop and you have to gasp to release the tension.

That's my name. Xavier called out my name, the one my mother gave to me. It's the one Rosie calls when she wants me to pick her out of the apple tree, the one Alicky screams when she's cross with me. It's my name. And now I have to answer to it.

I can't hear anything. My ears have popped and I can't hear. People start to turn to me, their faces full of emotions. Relief. Pity. Thankfulness that it's not them. I take a step forward. The crowds part like the corn as you hack the scythe through it, letting me pass. I walk as if in a daze, not quite sure of what's happening anymore. My feet seem to move on instinct. I'm not telling them what to do any longer.

There seems to be a faint rumbling, which I can only imagine is Xavier, still burbling, as I make my way up to the stage, now guarded by two Peacekeepers on either side of me. Xavier holds his hand out to me and the Peacekeepers place their hands on my back to help me up but I shove them off. That seems to break the spell and suddenly I can hear again.

'Come on, dear, come on!' Xavier is thrusting his hand at me, so I take it and he hauls me up onto the stage. 'There now, come along, my dear.' He tugs me over to the microphone stand, where I can look out at the sea of wide, open faces staring back at me. I am aware that someone is screaming, far away. Looking up sharply I scan the faces until I find the ones that I am searching for.

They are standing at the back, but I can see them perfectly, as if they were right in front of me. Alicky is screaming quietly, her body straining forward but Isaac is holding her back, his face contorted with pain. Rosie is crying, but silently, as Jamie keeps his arm solidly around her shoulders. Ironically, it is his steady gaze that gives me the courage to keep my tears in.

'Now then.' Xavier dusts my shoulder. 'You're Emily then, my dear.'

'Yes.'

'And how old are you?'

'I am fifteen.'

'Quite the little lady then,' he says. 'Shall we see who is to accompany the lady on her valiant quest?' He leaves my side and gallivants over to the boy's bowl. He fumbles around and pulls one out triumphantly, holding it aloft.

'Ahem…' he clears his throat. 'Torian Maddox.'

You can almost hear the universal sigh of relief as the name is called out. The crowds start to part just as they did for me and I see a pale head cross the ground to the stage. My heart starts to pound.

Torian moves up the steps, refusing all help from Xavier, like a swan on water. He looks a bit like a swan, actually, his limbs all long and gangly. The head of hair is blonde, but white blonde so it looks like he has been dusted in icing sugar. His skin is so pale it is almost while, and from the looks of it it's flawless as well. No freckles on his nose, that's for sure.

He looks up at me and it's like ice is flooding my veins. His eyes are of the coldest blue I've ever seen, so cold they strike through my body and out the other side. I shiver, involuntarily.

'Congratulations, my good man.' Xavier pats his hand. 'Well done.'

Why is he congratulating us? What is good about being chosen to die like cattle in the Butchershop?

'District Ten, I give you, your two tributes!' He grabs both our hands and throws them in the air. 'Torian Maddox and Emily Greene.'

There are a few scattered applause, but no one really has the heart to clap for us. I glance aside at Torian, my chest thumping.

He doesn't look shocked, or scared about the situation. On the contrary, as our eyes catch, he gives me a smile. But it's not a kind smile, or reassuring. It's a hard, cruel smile that is almost as cold as his eyes. It confirms what I already knew.

Torian Maddox will stop at nothing to make sure that I am dead.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading and if you'd just take a second to tell me what you thought, in the review box or my tumblr askbox then I will love you forever and a day._

_Why do you think Torian wants Emily dead?_

_And why is he not scared of the Games?_

_love, Isabelle xx_


	4. Chapter 3: Emily

Chapter 3: Emily

My name is Emily Greene. I am fifteen years old and I live in District Ten. I was born in the summer, in the last exhausting stretch of the season before the leaves turned gold and fell from the trees, to Mariah and Alexander Greene of Greene Farm. I was their third child and first daughter.

My mother died when I was nine, giving birth to my youngest sister, Rosie. The birth came in the darkest depths of winter and the town doctor couldn't get out to our farm in time to save her. Afterwards, I took over as head of the household. At that time, my father still had a job and he went out to work the same as ever. I took Alicky and baby Rosie to the crèche at school, paying one precious silver coin every day for their care. Meanwhile, I also took up most of the cooking, cleaning and welfare of the house and farm, to make sure it didn't fall into disrepair. It was hard work, I'll freely admit that, but I enjoyed it to a certain extent. It felt good to be needed.

We struggled through the winter and into the summer months, Isaac and Jamie both taking on extra work at the Butchershop on weekends. For a while, I was almost confident that we were going to make it. That we'd all pull through on the other side of the darkness.

But then my father did the Terrible Thing. And then I didn't know what to think anymore.

* * *

I breathe through my mouth, the smell inside the Justice Building unsavoury for my tastes. I prefer lighter, fresher smells, like fresh flowers or cut grass, not musty fragrances that clog up your noses and make it hard to breathe. I'd always linger outside the perfume shops in town, when I went to do the shopping, longing to buy one of the wonderfully crafted glass bottles filled with gorgeous scents. Unfortunately, perfume was another luxury that I was doomed never to have. My hands are shaking too and I sit on them to try and stop it.

The room I am waiting in has velvet wallpaper. What a waste, I think, trying to distract myself. The number of dresses that could be made from that material and what is it doing? Hanging on a wall gathering dust. The same went for most of the other furniture in the room as well. Hand crafted writing desks that looked as if they'd never been used. Plush chairs that had 'do not sit' printed on tiny cards on the seats. What was the point if no one was using them?

A noise outside the door gives me a jolt and I stand eagerly. The door flies open and Alicky runs in, hurrying straight to me and flinging her arms around my waist.

'It's okay,' I soothe her, bringing her closer into me. 'It's alright. Everything is going to be alright.'

'But it won't though, is it?' she gulps, struggling through her tears. 'Nothing's ever going to be alright again.' What can I say to that?

Isaac and Jamie follow her into the room, their eyes hollow. Rosie bursts through the gap between them and hurtles towards us. I peel an arm away from Alicky and hug her too, a lump building up in my throat that I have to swallow away.

'I'll make it okay,' I say into her hair. 'I promise.'

'Emily.'

The tiny voice comes down from above my knee, with a little tug on the hem of my skirt. I give my eyes a quick wipe with my sleeve and bend down.

'What is it, sweetheart?'

Rosie is dry-eyed for once, her chocolate brown eyes wide and scared. 'Do you have to go play the Game now?'

'Yeah,' I nod, forcing a smile onto my face as the tears start to build behind my eye lids. 'I have to go play the game now.'

Rosie nods back at me, and reaches out for my hand. 'When can you come home?' she asks and I have to hold back the sobs. She honestly thinks that I'll come back and everything will be as it has been for her whole life. I'm beginning to see how large an effect this will have on her young life, and Alicky's too. I've always been there to tie her laces and cook her dinner. Who's going to do that now?

'I can't come home yet, baby,' I whisper to her, brushing her feathery hair behind her ears. 'Sometimes…' I hesitate. 'Sometimes they don't let people come home from the Game.'

'But, you'll try and make them let you come home?'

I bite my lip and look up. Alicky's blue eyes, the ones that so often looked at me with irritation or anger, are glassy with tears. Isaac has his arm around Jamie, who keeps giving me his steady gaze that right now screams of pride.

'She'll try so hard they won't know what's hit them,' he reassures Rosie in his gravelly voice, stepping forward to place his hand on her shoulder. I nod, unable to find words to say in response. 'I can assure you of that.'

Rosie nods, her confidence restored, and she flings her arms around my neck and squeezes tight. I squeeze back, kissing her sweet smelling hair and then let go. Jamie scoops her up into his arms.

'Al,' I turn Alicky towards me. 'Listen to me. Rosie's bedtime is seven thirty, no later. Make sure you both get to school on time, clean your teeth, eat fresh vegetables…' I hesitate. What do I do for them that they need to do for themselves now? Alicky nods to everything I say, her blue eyes cloudy with tears.

'I won't do anything as good as you do,' she whispers and I almost lose it.

'Well, you have to try, okay?' I say.

'Okay.'

I draw her in again, feeling the press of her bony body against my own and wonder how long I can keep her there. The answer is, not long. Jamie takes her hand and pulls her away from me.

'See you, kid,' he says to me and I nod. If Jamie is anything, he's no nonsense.

'I love you,' I call, stepping forward as the door clinks shut. 'I love you.'

And then it's just Isaac and me. Isaac, who's been my rock for six years, the one who's kept me going, the one who refused to let me crash and burn. Isaac, my brother. I step towards him and suddenly I am in his strong arms and he's holding me like he'd hold Alicky, rubbing my back and stroking my hair. Finally, I start to cry, long sobs that shake my body from head to foot.

'It's okay,' he murmurs, repeating my very word that I said just five minutes ago. 'It's alright.'

'But it's not, is it?' I sniff, wiping my nose on my sleeve. 'It's never going to be okay again.'

'I know,' he says. 'I know, Em. And you know, if there was anything I could do to change this, I would, you know I would.'

'I know.'

'But, Emily…' he pulls me away, at arm's length. 'Emily, listen to me. The most important thing is, you can't be like Dad.' I suck in my breath. I knew this was coming. 'Whatever happens in that Arena, you have to promise me you won't be like him. You_ can't_.'

He's desperate, I can see that and I know why he's asking this of me. It's for the girls, so they don't have to see me become a monster. And I don't want to be a monster either, who does? Even though it means having to lose my life, I won't do it. Never.

'Please.' Isaac pauses, pale beneath his freckles. They're like mine, scattered across his nose. 'Promise me, Em.'

'I promise. I won't be like Dad.'

He breathes out, pulling me close again, but I shrug away. 'Promise for a promise?'

It's a game we've played for years: secret for a secret, sweet for a sweet, pinch for a pinch. It's the kind of game that only siblings can play. It keeps things even. Isaac eyes me warily, then nods.

'Promise for a promise.'

'Don't let the girls watch the Games.'

Isaac groans and rubs at his temples. 'Em, that's a stupid promise and I can't keep it.'

'No, no, you can.' I grasp at his hand. 'Please, just keep them away from it.'

'Emily,' his voice is soft and gentle. 'I can't. They have to go to school, they show the Games at school, remember?'

My mind is whirring at fifty miles a minute. 'So, keep them home from school,' I beg. 'Alicky will have to do my jobs and Rosie can help her and they can take care of themselves, never open the door, please, Isaac, please.' My voice is starting to tremble. 'Don't let them see me die.'

He looks at me and I can see tears in his eyes. 'Okay,' he says gruffly and I throw myself at him again. 'It's not a promise, but I'll try my best, alright?'

'Thank you,' I whisper. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you.'

Suddenly there is a pull and I am torn from Isaac's arms. Panicking, I scramble for them, but his hands are already gone, leaving me in the hands of a stranger, who is taking me away to die.

'Time to go,' another Peacekeeper says, hauling my brother from the room, his hands firmly on Isaac's shoulders. 'We need to get her on the train now.'

'No!' I yell, struggling against the arms that hold me tight. 'No!'

'We love you, Em!' Isaac calls, as he is dragged further away. 'Do you hear me? Whatever happens in that Arena, we love-'

The door is slammed on his final word.

* * *

_What do you all think? Do you like it so far? What do you think is going to happen next? Let me know in that wonderful little review box below and we shall be friends forever._

_love,_

_Isabelle x_


	5. Chapter 4: Emily

_Hey, guys, sorry for the delay with this chapter. School's getting more intense, but I still want to write! Okay, so here it is, and I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

I enter the train quietly, leaving all my emotion behind in the Justice Building. Surprisingly, I feel relatively calm, something that should be unusual for someone who is being transported away from the only home they've ever known to a place they'll be prepared for death. But then again, there you go.

The train carriage I've been hustled in to is, if it were possible, more elaborate and extravagant than the room at the Justice Building. What is even the point of having a chandelier in a train, anyway? The walls are covered in an intricate floral patter with roses, violets and multi-coloured tulips, so bright and busy that it makes my head buzz. There are armchairs settled in the middle of the carriage around a table that is covered with a blue silk cloth. Over on the counter there are plates of food – wonderful food with delicious odours, delicately arranged on frosted glass plates with dinky shot glasses placed beside. I can feel my mouth watering already.

'Have some food, darling!' Xavier floats into the carriage, Torian shuffling behind him. 'You look starving and heaven knows you're going to need it.' He totters over and plucks himself a cocktail from the bar, stirring it with a gilded, golden stirrer Once he's finished, he flounces over to the rubbish chute and throws it down, brushing his hands on his coat afterwards. I stare at him in disbelief. A stirrer like that would feed our family for months, and pay for new clothes for us all as well and he's just thrown it away as if it was a dirty tissue.

Torian brushes past me and goes to the counter, picking up a clear glass plate on his way. I watch with bated breath as he starts piling the plate up with miniature cakes, sausages wrapped in parma ham and pastel coloured flowers crafted out of sugar. It makes my mouth water just watching him.

As if he can hear me watching him, Torian looks up. 'Do you want something to eat?' he asks. His voice is soft and melodic, nothing like the coarse accent that most people from Ten use. If anything, it reminds me of the Capitol accent.

Wordlessly, I shake my head, even though I can feel the saliva building in my mouth.

'You need to eat,' he remarks and picks up another plate and carefully selects a few items of food: a pale pink rose made of sugar, a tiny pastry stuffed with cream and a mini quiche of what looks like salmon. He offers it to me. 'Take it.'

I take the plate with shaking hands. 'Thank you,' I whisper, keeping my eyes down. This boy is dangerous, Emily. Don't forget that.

Torian nods at me, but keeps his eyes level, which is disconcerting to say the least. It feels as if he is taking me in, summing me up. Trying to figure out the best way to kill me.

'Come and sit down, kiddies,' Xavier chirps, motioning for us to sit in one of the armchairs. I set my plate down on the table and lower myself cautiously into a chair. Immediately, I sink into the softness of the cushions, slumping so much I have to sit up again just to be able to see over the top of the table. Torian takes a seat opposite me, smirking. He has no trouble, perching carefully on the edge of the seat, him long trousered legs neatly tucked under the legs of the table. I copy as best I can, but still find myself slipping, ungracefully, down the chair.

'Buck should be here in a second, he struggles with the steps, poor dear,' Xavier huffs sympathetically, placing his white gloved hands on his narrow hips and sucking in through his teeth.

'Buck?' Torian asks, his blonde eyebrows slanting in, in confusion.

'Your mentor,' Xavier enunciated the word, as if Torian is stupid. 'He's meant to help you.'

'I know,' Torian says, speaking through gritted teeth. 'But I thought Briony was the mentor for Ten.'

'Oh, no, dear,' Xavier smiles down at him, as I have to bite my lip; it is so patronizing. 'You see, Briony is the usual mentor but she's having a baby soon so she requested that Buck take the tributes this time. She wasn't planning on a second games this year.'

He is interrupted by an uneven clumping, that seems to be coming up the ramp by the train door. My head snaps around, desperate to catch a glimpse of this mentor of mine, who is supposed to help make my imminent death slightly less far away, or even help me win. He'd better be pretty good.

The carriage doors slide open and standing in the door frame is a man of about forty. He is hunched over, which makes him looks smaller than he actually is. His skin is leathered and tanned so much by the sun it is almost darker than his hair, which is a tawny blonde with grey streaked through it, which makes him appear older than he probably is. His clothes are far too big for him; the silk jacket he is wearing is hanging off his chest like a blanket and although it is well made and the colour of freshly cut grass, he seems to shrug his body out of it like he detests it. The man, who I am assuming is Buck, hobbles across the carpet of the carriage slowly, using a gilded walking stick that he holds gingerly and with an air of disgust. It is only when he comes closer to me that I can see he is missing a foot and that is why he is limping.

'Ah, Buck!' Xavier greets him warmly, moving over to let him sit down. 'Wonderful to see you!'

'Is it?' Buck says in return, his voice weary and tired. In contrast to Torian's clear, precise voice that hasn't even got a slight tinge of the District 10 accent, Buck's voice is so heavy with the coarse, fractured accent that it is hard to make out his words. 'Is it really?'

Xavier seems a little thrown by this, but continues to smile forcefully. 'I'm sure it is!'

I shift uncomfortably in my seat as Buck sinks into his chair with a scowl. Actually, I am inclined to agree with him. I see nothing wonderful about him being here either. Just having him in the carriage makes it seem all the more real. Not to mention the fact that he seems sullen, sulky and grumpy. I am starting to wish that Briony hadn't gotten pregnant.

'So,' Buck sighs, leaning on his cane. 'You're the poor sods who got picked this year.'

'Yes, sir,' Torian inclines his head respectfully.

'Don't call me sir.'

Torian blinks in confusion and his pale cheeks colour slightly indignantly. I stare down at my shoes, through the gap in the table, just to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Against the brightly floral carpet, they look shamefully shabby and I tuck them under me in humiliation. Xavier wrings his hands out in distress and eats another miniature cake.

'Do you have,' Torian speaks up, carefully and quietly, 'any, ahem, tips? For the arena? That is the purpose of mentors, am I correct?'

I hold my breath, heart hammering, and dare to look up at Buck. He is staring out of glazed over eyes at Torian, his mouth pursed firmly. He takes a cigar out of his pocket and lights it with a match from his sleeve.

'Could you please not…' Xavier begins to say, but trails off when he is on the receiving end of one of Buck's glares.

'You are correct,' Buck says, breathing out a ring of smoke. 'That is the role of a mentor; to give tributes (that's you two) advice.'

Torian sits back in triumph.

'However, that does not mean that I have any to give you.' Buck pulls the cigar out of his mouth and frowns at it, before stubbing it out on the table cloth. Xavier winces. 'You see, there's really no point in it. Here's how it's going to go: you will get to the Capitol. You will be paraded like dogs for the Capitol's enjoyment. Then people will teach you how to kill, or rather, will try to teach you kill.' He looks up, first to Torian, then to me. A shiver runs down my spine.

'After that,' Buck continues, examining the end of his cigar. 'You will be placed in an arena, of which I have no hope of knowing what will be like, and therefore cannot prepare you for. And then you will be dead.' He relights the cigar and sticks it back in his mouth. I can see the pain in Xavier's face; he obviously hates smoking. I sit in silence. Hearing Buck say all that makes me realise how close my own death is.

'Excuse me,' Torian breaks the silence, and my own musings, again, 'but that's not quite correct.'

'Oh?' Buck's golden eyes glint at him from his sunken face. 'What did I miss out, kid?'

'We might not just die,' Torian explains, his face expressionless and cool. 'We might - well, one of us might – win.'

'Win?' Buck stares at him. 'Win?' he laughs, a raw, sour laugh that makes my toes curl. 'Oh, child, how little you know.' Suddenly, he jabs his cigar back onto the table with a bang and lurches forward to lean over the table. Both Xavier and I jump. 'Even if, by some miracle, you come out of the arena alive (and, by looking at the two of you, it's more likely that my cat would, no offense), you will never be the same person that you were when you went in. That person will die, whether you like it or not. And let me tell you, if you do come out, you may well wish that you had died.'

This seems to have been a long speech for him, because he falls back into the chair, exhausted, and picks up a glass for a drink of gin.

'You don't know that,' Torian insists. 'You could be wrong.'

'Oh, ho, believe me.' Buck glares at him across the table and hisses, 'I am never wrong.'

Torian abruptly gets up, jerking his chair out from under him and storms off, banging the glass divider of the carriage as he goes. We hear the slam of a door slightly further down the train and Xavier sighs deeply, looking like he knew this would happen all the time.

Buck seems entirely unbothered, but instead pours himself another glass of gin. He looks up to find me still staring at him in horror.

'You mark my words, girlie,' he growls, his eyes boring into me. 'No soul who goes into that arena comes back out.'

* * *

_Ooh, things are picking up! Let me know any thoughts in the review box and I hope you'll come back for the next chapter._


	6. Chapter 5: Emily

Hi everyone, it's been a long time but here's chapter five! I hope you might leave a little review, it would let me know if anyone is actually reading this :) thank you!

* * *

That night, I sleep astonishingly well.

The gently rocking of the train, moving swiftly across Panem at over one hundred miles an hour, acted like a sedative to me and within minutes of lying on the bed in my room, I find myself dozing off. The bed itself was utterly wonderful; it felt like floating on a cloud with nothing between you and the sky. The whole room really was just as luxurious as anything else I have experienced in the past twenty-four hours: silken sheets, slit with purple velvet covers, a mahogany bedstead engraved with etchings of extravagant patterns and glass vases full of fragrant flowers scattered around the room. I read their names, in Latin, in the little booklet at the side of the bed before I slid between the sheets. Unbelievably, I have no nightmares, although I do wake earlier than usual, stretching out for Rosie's body, which should be next to me on the mattress, but of course it is not.

For a long time, I lie in the middle of the bed, waiting. Yesterday afternoon, saying goodbye to my family, it had felt like I was about to burst into tears at any moment, but I had forced myself to keep it all contained. Now, when I could freely break down within the sound proof walls of the train compartment, no tears come. It's strange, how when we most need it our self-control leaves us, but when we are ready to let go we are perfectly emotionless.

Eventually, I flip back the duvet with a sigh and pull myself out of the bed to get dressed. My own yellow dress has vanished from the chair I placed it on yesterday, but a closet full of exquisitely made outfits is in the corner of my compartment.

When I slip on a pair of slinky soft trousers the colour of lambs' wool, they fit as if they were made exclusively for me. The same goes for the floaty, pink top, with the pattern of lilac flowers growing up the sides of the material, that folds over my body like silk. I make use of the looking glass above the dressing table, which has similar flower patterns coloured into the glass and is the perfect height for me to see into. In the mirror, I see a very different girl to the one in the grotty old, cracked mirror in the bathroom back at home. And I'm not sure if I like that.

* * *

'Morning, dear!' Xavier chirps, as I walk into the dining cart,. 'Come in, have something to eat.'

Just as it was last night, the table is heaving with rich food and drinks, although this morning they all seem to be breakfast related. There is white toast in cherry red racks, porridge with blackcurrant jam swirled in, pots of tea and miniature china tea cups, pancakes dripping in maple syrup, muffins covered in golden coated chocolate chips…these people have so many golden things I am beginning to wonder if the streets in the Capitol are paved with the stuff.

'What do you want?' Xavier ushers me into a chair and presents the foodstuffs to me as if he's made them himself.

I scan the table but for all that there is there is not an egg in sight. My insides gurgle at the memory of the creamy, warming scrambled eggs I shared with my family yesterday; with hunger for the comfort or food, I can't quite tell. Pushing the thought away, I grab a muffin and start scratching at the gold coating with my fingernail.

'Oh, please don't do that.' Xavier winces, as if the gold is attached to his own body and every scratch from my nail is like a scratch on his skin.

I glare up at him (honestly, who does this man think he is?) but my scowl quickly falls away when I see Torian sulk into the dining cart through the other door I came in by. He has showered, it seems, since our last meeting and like me, he appears to have found some new clothes. He slouches into the light and I see that he is wearing a crisp baby blue shirt and straight line trousers, in an identical shade to my own. Apparently I am not the only one to notice this. Torian catches my eye and his own darken, flicking up and down my ensemble in disgust. Suddenly, it feels as if my skin is crawling with tiny insects and I shiver. I shift my gaze and Torian takes his seat next to me reluctantly. I try not be to offended/

'Do you want anything too, dear?' Xavier questions him tentatively, carefully dodging Torian's intense gaze and buttering his muffin to avoid eye contact.

'No.'

'Oh.'

The air in the cart must be at least five degrees colder. Xavier sits up a little straighter, a disappointed look clouding his painted white face. I stab at my muffin with a knife and lean my head in my hands.

'We should be in the Capitol by noon,' Xavier says, the force to be cheerful all too evident in his tone. 'That will be nice, won't it?'

'Yeah,' Torian says, sarcastically. 'Just one step closer to what appears to be our imminent deaths, right? Or at least, that's what Buck seems to think.'

'Yes…well…' Xavier seems to be lost for words. I feel just a twinge of sympathy for the man; I wonder if any previous tributes had ever been quite as resentful towards him. Knowing the children of Ten as I do, I highly doubt it. Torian is an exception.

'Oh, look,' Xavier says absently after a minute or two. 'We're just going past…' He trails off and turns even paler, as if just realising his mistake all too late.

See, unless you're reaped, you never leave your district. There are electric fences built for the exact purpose of keeping us all separate, and at various points on the fences there are watchtowers, just to make sure that no one tries to make a dramatic escape over them. As far as I, or my history lessons, can remember, nobody has ever made that attempt. The districts keep to themselves, for fear of what might happen if we didn't. We receive no news from outside our own districts and as for travelling for pleasure…well, it's out of the question completely.

The Capitol are desperate to keep us all segregated as much as possible, for some reason that I don't quite understand. Whatever the case, I've never even seen pictures of what it might be like outside of District Ten, let alone been outside the fences, in my whole life.

Instantly, both Torian and I whip our heads around to stare out of the window. Rushing past at what seems to me is the speed of light is a landscape so changed from Ten's that it takes my breath away. I see water, so much water. The sea; the word comes to the front of my mind like a fish poking it's head out of the crust of the river and I let it linger there, savouring the word. Small towns with roofs the colour of rust are gathered in small clusters together in the hills, and I see yellow ground, sand, washing up to meet with the water lapping at it. My sisters' and I would always talk about one day seeing the sea, and now here we were, right in front of it but unable to touch it. Wait, no. Here I was. They weren't with me anymore.

'Where is that?' Torian breaks the silence with the question, his voice deep and gravelly.

'District Four,' Xavier says softly. 'Fishing.'

Well, that makes sense, I suppose. We all watch, dumbstruck, as the scenery flashes past, Torian and I draining it all in, Xavier graciously letting us. Soon, the mossy greens of the pine forests replace the golden sands and we all turn back to our breakfasts in silence.

'You know,' Xavier says quietly after a few minutes. 'It's um, probably best if you don't tell anyone that you saw…that place. If you understand.'

Yes, I understood. If anyone was to know that he'd let us sit there and watch District Four sail past, even telling us where we were, then he'd be in just as much trouble as we were, perhaps even more. The people of the Capitol are just as scared as we are, I realise with a jolt. It's not just the lives of the district residents that are threatened every day. We're all like rabbits, quivering with fear that the fox could poke it's head into our burrow at any moment.

'I understand,' I respond, quietly. Torian says nothing, but he keeps his head low.

Xavier breathes out, the creases of worry on his forehead smoothing out. 'Good, good.' He holds us the teapot and tries for a smile. 'A cup of tea, dear?'

I am about to accept (tea would be wonderful), when the glass door at the end of the car opens and Buck limps in, his stick clinking on the wooden floor. His jacket is tweed, green and yellow which would be hideous enough, but to make it even worse, they are paired with matching trousers. Unlike my clothes, Bucks seem to drape off him in a very unflattering fashion.

Instantly, Torian screeches his chair back and throws his napkin to the floor. I stare down at my plate as he storms, without saying a word, out the door on the other side of the car and feel the bang of the glass vibrate through my feet as he slams the door after him.

'He didn't want to hang around, did he?' Buck grunts as he takes his seat opposite me.

I say nothing.

'Suppose,' Buck says, picking up a slice of toast and biting into it. 'He and I didn't get off to such a great start, now, did we?' He continues to chomp on his toast and with every bite I can feel Xavier's distress at the vast amount of crumbs that are being sprayed out with every mouthful Buck takes.

'You're not a big talker, are you?' he questions, obviously to me. I glance up and find his golden eyes staring at me deeply. It's disturbing in a way, but in a different way to how Torian looks at me. I don't feel the same icy coolness from his gaze that I do with Torian. Instead, just an empty aching. I lower my head again and push my plate away. Suddenly, I am not hungry any more.

'Of course,' he speaks through his mouthful. 'I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. After all, I know how it feels, don't I?' I still say nothing. 'I know how it feels,' Buck continues, a touch of hysteria breaking his voice. 'To sit in this train. Unaware of whether I'd be dead or alive come two weeks. It is pretty daunting, isn't it?' I start to dig my thumbnail into the skin at the side of my fingers, my heart hammering against my chest. 'Especially when you have something to hide.'

My heart stops.

Buck leans forward over the table, a triumphant glint in his eyes. 'You be careful, child. When you keep secrets in the Capitol they have a frightening way of coming back to stab you where it counts and…' he chuckles, suddenly venomous. 'Well, with a secret as big as yours, it's a wonder the Capitol don't know already. Wouldn't want to be like your father now…would you?'

That is enough. Just like Torian, I scrape my chair back and get up from the table. I turn my back on Xavier and Buck and walk straight through the glass door, not bothering to back it behind me. My steps are quick; I am desperate to get away from this man and his words that cut like a knife into my sides.

'Watch your back, Emily Greene,' Buck calls after me, his voice a warning prophecy. 'Watch your back.'

I don't turn back, but instead hurl myself into my bedroom, Buck's words still ringing again and again in my mind. I slide down the door and cover my ears, just to try and stop them from turning those words over in my head.

Maybe Torian had the right idea. Maybe spending the remainder of this journey in my room is the best plan after all.


	7. Chapter 6: Emily

'Honey, what have you been doing with your nails? It looks like you've been digging a hole!'

Well, she's not too far off from the truth.

Standing in my bare feet, on a block covered in satin, I am being preened and perfected by a gaggle of three Capitol people. One is blow-drying my freshly washed hair, another is moisturising my freshly shaved legs with apple smelling gunk and the last is violently filing my clipped and scrubbed nails, so that they are pink and tingling. Just the normal preparation before the tribute parade, I have discovered.

Soon after arriving in the decadent façade of the Capitol, I was whisked away from under Xavier's watchful gaze and into the prep centre, where I met my new prep team. Three people, all dressed in similar, extravagant costumes, there just to make me look pretty, and one last member of the team, my dressing designer, who I had not met yet. It seemed incredible, all that work for a soon-to-be corpse? But then again, this was the Capitol. What had I been expecting?

'Cadmium will be here soon,' the lady who commented on my nails, says brightly. She appears to be dressed like an apple to match the moisturiser: her puffball dress is a bright green silk and her hair is curled up with small, sparkly clips, shaped like little balls. 'And she'll get you dressed.'

'Cadmium?' I repeat dumbly. I've heard the name before, but I can't think where. Maybe one of my mother's books, the ones I keep above my bed.

'Your stylist, dear,' the man with the blow drier explains, in exasperation. He is dressed all in yellow, with a long jacket and tails and his pure white hair is coiled on the top of his head like a beehive. 'But don't you worry yourself; she always comes up with something utterly _magnifiqué_!' He blows the last of the hot air onto my head with a flourish.

Oh, I don't doubt that she will, not at all. Sitting at home and watching the tribute parade in previous years, my brothers and I always had to stifle laughter at the ludicrous costumes that the poor tributes were stuffed into and forced to wear down the tribute alley.

The laughter almost always turned into tears.

'Where is she then?'

We all jump at the sound of the crisp Capitol accent from behind us. My prep team flutter backwards, making a pathway for the stylist to come through. I turn, slowly, in my cream shift that I was given to wear, to meet her. Cadmium stands, arms crossed, in the doorway, her expert eyes quickly taking me all in. I do the same for her.

She must be about twenty-five or so, tall and slender, with skin the colour of milky tea. Large flicks of eyeliner brush out on her face, with little black studs beside the corners of her eyes. Her dark hair is tightly pulled up, but when she turns her head I can see that the detail in the bun is breath-taking; tiny butterflies made of diamonds peek out of the multiple twists of hair and when the light catches them, they change colour. Her dress is surprisingly simple compared to all the other's I've seen so far, it is tight and figure hugging, coming down to her knees before flaring out slightly. It is grey, which at first glance looked very dull, but with every slight movement she makes it sends waves of colour flitting down her body, like spilt oil. I find myself staring, but I can't help myself. It is unlike anything I have ever seen before.

'It could have been worse,' she says rudely, breaking my train of thought. 'She has a nice body shape and her hair looks like it's in good condition.'

'I used the new shampoo,' the man says proudly. 'With the anti-frizz and extra smoothing agent. She needed it.'

_What? Anti-frizzing agent? How dare he?_ I resist the defensive urge to pat down my hair.

Cadmium nods in approval at the shampoo. 'It's a shame about the freckles, really,' she laments, as if I was not in the room. I feel the heat rush up to my face; how rude could these people be?

'How's her skin, otherwise?' Cadmium enquires, reaching forward to tug at my cheeks.

I slap her fingers away. '_Her skin_ is perfectly fine,' I snap. 'Thank you.'

The prep team gasp in horror (I'm guessing that not many tributes fight back) but Cadmium smiles thoughtfully.

'You're a fighter,' she notes. 'I'll take that into account.'

I snort. 'Not likely.'

She regards me carefully for a second, before turning to the others. 'Flora and Perseus, could you go see if our young man needs anything? I left him changing, but he may be in need of some refreshment.' Apple Girl (who I suppose must be Flora) and Beehive Man (Perseus) nod and scurry quickly from the room. Cadmium smiles at the last woman, the one who was doing my nails. She seems to be the youngest of the four, probably not that much older than I am, dressed from head to toe in red.

'Scarlet, sweetie, could you go fetch the dress for me? It's in the dresser down the corridor.'

Scarlet (quite aptly named if you ask me) nods and hurries off out the door and along the hallway, letting the door bang shut behind her. Cadmium turns back to me, her hands set on her hips.

'What's your name?' she asks.

'Emily.'

'Emily what?'

'Emily Greene.'

She nods in approval and sits down in one of the plush, circular chairs that are dotted around the room. 'You said that you weren't a fighter, Emily. Why is that?'

I shrug. 'I'm just not.'

'Well, what are you then?'

The question surprises me. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, what defines you? If you're not a fighter, then what? A lover?' I snort. 'Not a lover either, then,' she guesses. 'An artist? A dancer? Singer, enchantress, actress?'

'What does it matter?' I snap, crossing my arms over my chest defiantly and glaring at her.

We are interrupted by a timid knock on the door and Scarlet pops her head around it, shyly. 'I've got the dress,' she whispers.

Cadmium inclines her head gracefully. 'Bring it in, thank you, Scarlet.' Scarlet opens the door fully and carries in a velvet dress hanger, with it's dress covered with a sheet so I can't see what's inside. She lays it out, very carefully on anther chair and waits beside it for further instruction. I almost laugh, despite my frustration and anger. Does she really have that little sensitivity and intuition?

'You can go now, Scarlet,' Cadmium prompts her, gently. 'Go find Flora and Perseus, thank you.'

Scarlet breathes out in relief and almost runs back to the door. She closes it softly behind her and Cadmium rolls her eyes as it shuts.

'She's new, you see,' she explains to me, even though I didn't ask. 'One of the Gamemakers daughters who wants to be a stylist. Between you and me though, she really doesn't have what it takes…' Cadmium gets up, uncrossing her long legs and walks over to the covered dress. 'Now, let's see if this needs any alterations…' she slides the cover off the dress and pulls it out. A gasp catches in my throat.

It's quite short, and plainly cut, a shift dress I think the term is, but that's not what shocked me. what shocked me was the fact that the whole thing seems to be made with brown and white cow hide.

'Is…is that…real cow?' I ask, my voice shaking. _It can't be real cow, surely they wouldn't…_

'Of course,' Cadmium says proudly, lifting it up for me to see. 'The finest from Ten, I so believe. If you believe Flora's gossips, President Snow's steak even came from this one's brother…'

I feel sick. I don't want to believe Flora.

Cadmium tugs the shift off over my head and slips the dress over me in it's place. It's slightly itchy and the weight of it is uncomfortable on my shoulders. Plus, I could swear I can smell blood, the taint already on my skin. After spending my life watching generations of the animals go up for slaughter, I suppose it should have been there already.

'Fits perfectly,' Cadmium declares. 'What do you think?'

I swallow down my nausea and stare at myself in the mirror. My hazelnut coloured hair is sleek and straight, my skin is buffed and smooth, my nails are shaped and polished. The dress hangs off me quite nicely really, which disgusts me. why should something that once belonged to an animal fit me so well?

Cadmium has been regarding my face carefully and with one sweeping statement she answers her own question. 'You hate it,' she states.

'I hate it,' I confirm. She sighs and flops back into the chair and puts her head in her hands. 'I'm sorry,' I say, although I'm not quite sure why. 'But I hate it.'

'Of course you do,' Cadmium says through gritted teeth. 'You're supposed to hate it. It's the aim of the game.'

I snap my head back to look at her. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing,' she sighs. 'I've said too much already.'

'And a little more would hurt too much?'

'It did for the last stylist who said too much,' she says darkly. 'If you believe the rumours.'

I feel a shiver run down my spine. 'Who?'

'Twelve's stylist, in the 74th,' Cadmium answers, getting up to tweak at the back of my dress. 'Cinna, I think his name was. He was new here, quite nice but, well, let's just say he got a little bit _too_ friendly with his tributes and their mentor. After the, ahem, accident during the games, no one's heard from him or seen him.'

My heart hammers against my chest. 'You think that he's been…'

'Oh, _I_ don't,' Cadmium declares. 'All the other stylists and preperators seem to - that's why they're so cautious around their tributes right now. Afraid that the same thing will happen to them. But, no, I don't think he was…dealt with in that way. I'm fairly sure he escaped. He was too clever to let himself be caught.' She catches herself and straightens up; seeming to believe that she's said too much again. 'I know that you don't want to wear the dress, but it's not really up for debate. You have to, just for one night and then that's it. Alright?'

'Fine,' I mutter.

'Good.' Cadmium beams up at me with a grin as fake as the Capitol itself. 'It's showtime.'

* * *

I ride alongside Torian in the District 10 chariot. He is wearing a similar tunic to me, in the awful cow hide, but he wears tan leggings underneath. Our outfits are completed with elaborate antler headdresses and black buckle boots. I have never felt so preposterous in all my life.

As we drive into the Tribute Square, I look up, at President Snow. There is now a large glass screen blocking our view of him where there hadn't been before, the glass frosted over with etchings of roses. Behind it, I can just make out the blurred figure of a bearded gentleman, sitting in a chair with other figures, bodyguards I presume, standing around him guarding him.

Was that one man really capable of making another 'disappear' just like that? What kind of power did he have at his very fingertips?

Snow stands up, so just the top of his head is visible above the glass. In any other circumstances, this might have been humorous, but as it is I am just terrified. Snow addresses the crowds of people, his people with words that could almost be described as warming. Even so, a deep shiver runs down my spine and my hands tremble on the edges of the chariot.

Torian glances down at me, vaguely bemused, then looks away. There is something sinister about the glint in his eye and the turn of his lips as he smiles, something that makes me want to cringe away from him, but keeps me captivated even so.

Tearing my eyes away from Torian's face, I look back up to President Snow's balcony, with the rose window pane and numerous guards for one old man.

He is gone.


	8. Chapter 7: Emily

_Hello everyone, thank you for reading so far and I hope you enjoy this next chapter! If you do, I'd love it if you left me a review so I can know how to improve. To all new readers, I suggest you read from the beginning, just so you understand all that has happened (and maybe you'll leave a review too?)._

_Thank you all for reading!_

_Isabelle xxx_

* * *

Training begins the very next morning. Xavier bustles into my room in our apartment, on the tenth floor of the Training Centre, bright and early.

'Rise and shine!' he trills, throwing back the thick, silk drapes at the windows. 'It's six thirty already, my, how the time flies!'

How it does indeed.

After dressing hurriedly in a plain grey t-shirt made in some stretchy fabric and beige trousers of a soft material, I meet up with the rest of the District Ten team in the dining part of our apartment. Breakfast is the same as it was on the train, but I don't really have the appetite for much. Torian, apparently, feels the same way.

'So, did you both sleep well?' Xavier asks, brightly, pouring himself a cup of coffee into a china cup painted with tiny golden circles.

I did not sleep well, as a matter of fact. Although the beds were freakishly similar to the beds on the train, I had tossed and turned all night long, my mind running off to places that I was terrified to let it explore. At around two am, I had had to dash to the crystal blue bathroom to throw up my rich, Capitol dinner. Lying, sprawled, on the cool blue tiles, I had felt as if I was drowning in a green-blue haze of water. In the few fractured moments that my eyes did flutter shut, I was haunted by images of past arenas I had watched rip children I had known to pieces. Several times, I had woken, screaming, into the soft material of my many pillows.

'Yes,' I lie, politely.

Torian looks across the table at me, his blonde eyebrow raised. The look he gives me is not threatening, or unpleasant, which somehow makes me all the more uneasy. Almost as if he understands.

Much to my surprise, when we go down to the training centre, he doesn't distance himself from me. In fact, he does the exact opposite. Where I go, he follows. It's disconcerting to say the least, but it does make me feel slightly less nervous, with someone by my side. We even stand together in briefing, hands behind backs, chests held high, as the head trainer barks out instructions to us like we are junior ranch hands on our first day. While she talks at us, I take the opportunity to glace around at my fellow tributes.

The Careers look typical of their districts. Both from One are blonde, muscly and tall, the same goes for the District Two tributes, except that the boy is dark and the girl is a ferocious looking red head. The pair from Four look highly smug as they stand arms crossed beside one another; the boy is tan and tall with silky copper hair and the girl has strawberry blonde curls and is far more petite, but I know not to let it fool me. These children have been trained practically from birth to kill.

I take in the rest of the tributes, carefully looking at them all. A few stand out, especially to me: the boy from Eleven who has a limp, which makes me think of Buck, the girl from Nine who keeps shoving her spectacles back onto her acne splattered nose, the tiny pair of twelve year olds (how did they manage to reap both tributes so young?) from Three and, surprisingly to myself, the male tribute from Six.

He is fairly tall, taller than me at any rate, and slim without being skinny. His skin is tanned the colour of weak tea and his hair is a golden toffee colour and has a slight curl to it. As I watch him, he bends his head and rubs one hand against the skin of his upper arm, slightly pushing up the sleeve of his green shirt unconsciously. I strain forward a little, trying to see his face a little closer. Suddenly, he looks up, his eyes startlingly green and I flick my gaze away quickly, heart hammering.

After the briefing, the band of tributes break apart, to one or other of the stations set up around the metal cased training room, which is several hundred metres wide and with only a handful of slit like windows at the tops of the walls. I hang back, unsure of where quite to go. There are archery stations, sword play areas, survival skills, fitness tests, knife throwing…

'Where do you want to go?'

The sound of Torian's voice behind me makes me jump. I spin to face him and find him directly behind me, his gaze cool and even, watching me carefully.

'I don't know,' I stammer, 'I was just looking.'

'Hmm.' He nods his head, thoughtfully. 'I was thinking of beginning at the survival skills. Would you care to join me?' He held out his hand for me to take.

'I…' This is wrong, him acting like this around me. He wants to kill me, I force myself to remember, not flirt with me. We are preparing to fight to the death, not have some summer camp activities. And yet his face charms me, his gestures are gentle and looks at me with a strange kindness. I am playing a dangerous game, I know that, but if it means I can convince him to ally with me in the Arena…well, I might just stand a better chance of winning, mightn't I?

I am considering taking the offer, and his hand, when behind Torian, I see a ropework station, where tributes are trying (unsuccessfully) to make a lasso out of the ropes. My fingers ache to feel the coarse threads of rope in my palms and twist them and turn them into the perfect noose for the unsuspecting cattle in the field. Or the unsuspecting tribute in the Arena. A shudder runs down my spine.

'I'd love to,' I decide and let him lead me by the hand over to where a trainer is trying to teach the bewildered Five girl to build a fire.

The following days are set out in a strangely regular rhythm. After an early breakfast, Torian and I would go down to the training room and he would gently guide me over to a station: be it survival skills, cooking on flames or identifying plants. Never does he steer me towards any weaponry, I notice. But then, never does he go to any himself. Once or twice, I think he catches me looking at the ropes, but I see nothing register in his eyes and instead I carry on.

At lunch, we sit together, him on my left, in silence, eating our bread and cheese gratefully. The food in the training centre is not as extravagant as it is in the apartments and reminds me of home food. It settles in my stomach better and I find that if I don't overdo it at dinner then I can go through the night without having to make a dash to the bathroom.

The afternoons are awkward. While all the other tributes are with their mentors, being given tips and advice on how to survive in the arena, Torian and I sit opposite Buck for an hour in silence, as he smokes or drinks or glares at us. But gives us no advice. Torian glares back. Once, Xavier pulled me out to teach me how to walk in high heels (why he thought he could I don't know, seeing as he'd obviously never worn the things in his life) but when that went badly he just slotted me back in as if nothing had happened. Even Torian didn't bother pressing Buck for advice anymore, after what happened on the train . Instead, he slouched down low in his seat with a look, so stormy it scared me, on his face, while I kept my head low and my hands held neatly in my lap.

After dinner, I go to my room and try to remember how Rosie's fringe fell around her eyes and the pattern of the worry lines around Jamie's eyes before it is time to go to bed. In the morning, I get up and do it all again.

I'd been stuck in this cyclical pattern of days for about a week before it got interrupted. With every day that passed, the details of home became even fuzzier in my mind, even though I fought furiously to make them clear again.

Other things were changing too. Torian was no longer as charming to me as he had been on the first few days. He didn't smile and nod graciously when we met in the apartment, nor did he hold me by the hand or open doors as I passed through. Instead he scowled down at me and let the door slam in my face. I couldn't quite work out why it bothered me so much, although it alarmed me that I was letting myself be bothered. Torian had every right in the world to hate me.

We walk into the training centre together that morning, him pulling slightly ahead of me as was starting to be normal. I was fighting fast to keep up with him, and it looked like he was about to veer off towards survival skills (again) when the head trainer caught hold of his arm.

'I want you two to come do the giant platforms today,' she commands. 'Everyone else has had a go. Now it's your turn.'

Torian turns to her and his eyes fall over her face as cold as glass. 'We were going to go learn how to survive a snowstorm today,' he answers, his voice frighteningly cool. 'We don't want to practice on the platforms.'

'You might not,' the trainer barks, then jerks her head towards me. 'But she might.'

Torian spins around and glares at me. I drop my gaze quickly but it wasn't fast enough. Already my skin is breaking out into goose bumps from the cold of his look. It wasn't as if I was dying to have a go on the six foot high podiums that tributes ran forward and back on, trying not to fall off, but it would be slightly more fun than the survival training I'd been doing for the past week, however much Torian thought it was useful. And anyway, who was he to be stopping me from

Taking a deep breath, I raised my head. 'Yes,' I say, tilting my chin up. 'I'd like to have a go.'

Torian's eyes suddenly flare with anger but before I have the chance to be alarmed, they dull again. 'Fine,' he snaps. 'You go have a go.' Spinning on his heel, he stormed away to the survival station, leaving me standing behind helplessly.

'Come on,' the trainer nods to me. I follow her over to the platforms, which seem much higher than I thought they were. I swallow back, my throat suddenly very dry and grab a hold of the first step to pull myself up on top of the first platform.

Carefully, I straighten myself out once I am up and feel how secure my feet feel on the firm metal of the outer casing. Once I am satisfied, I eye up the distance from this platform to the next. It is less than a foot, but when you are over six feet off the ground, that seems like quite a risk to take.

'Get moving!' I feel a poke on the back of my knee and almost fall, without even taking a step. Furiously, I leap forward without properly planning my move but manage to land on the next platform without too much wobbling. A rush of adrenaline shoots from my head down to my toes and I turn back to the trainer triumphantly. Then I leap again. This time I land almost perfectly which strongly boosts my confidence. I go again, and again. It is like flying, only with a quicker landing. It makes my body feel like it's suspended in the air and for one fleeting moment, is in someone else's control. It takes my breath away.

'Having fun?' I am pulled to a standstill when I hear Torian's voice. Glancing down, I find his sneering face looking up at me from my heels.

'Yes, actually,' I reply, my heart hammering so loudly I can hear it pumping in my ears. I take another leap, now filled with an unnatural desire to show off in front of him.

'How nice.' Well there was no need for sarcasm. Without looking at him, I take another jump, but he follows me, silent as a mouse.

'Do you want a go?' I ask him, keeping my head up and moving forward yet again, to get ahead. 'I'm sure you could, if you'd just wait for me to finish. I won't be long.'

'I don't want a go,' is his brisk answer. 'But thank you for the offer.'

'Are you afraid?' I question, my palms beginning to sweat. 'Afraid of falling off?' The next platform is slightly higher than the others have been and I grit my teeth as I jump, but make the landing just right, my shoe scuffing on the edge slightly.

'I'm not afraid.' He walks alongside me again, but keeps his gaze off me. 'I'm not afraid of anything.'

'Everyone's afraid of something,' I reply, making two jumps in a row.

'But not me.' His voice is almost a growl and I swallow again.

'Why not?' I need to stop. _Stop it, Emily. Stop talking now. You're getting into the danger zone._

'Because I have nothing to fear!' he snaps, the sound surprisingly loud in the echoic training centre. His words vibrate off the metal off the walls like a tug of a viola string. 'Do you understand? I have nothing to be afraid of!'

'But what about death?' I say, my voice trembling. 'You must fear death.'

He smirked and his hand lashed out to latch onto my ankle. I yelp, but he doesn't let go. 'The only one of us,' Torian hisses, his nails digging into my skin like claws, 'who has need to fear death, Emily Greene…is you.'

Before I have time to register what he has said, Torian pulls my foot out from under me. I lose my balance and fall, the ground having been ripped away from me and I am suddenly spiralling downwards, without control. I hit the coldness of the floor hard, so hard in fact that for a fleeting moment I can't see, I can't hear and I can't think. I am floating in limbo and it briefly crosses my mind that I might be dead. But then the noise all comes back in a sucking sound and I gasp.

Everyone is yelling around me and hands are grabbing at my arms trying to pull me up, searching over my body to see if I am hurt. A broken tribute is no good in the Games. I shake the hands off and prise my eyes open. Two Peacekeepers are holding Torian in restraint, even though he appears to be making no attempt to free himself. All he does is keep his eyes directly on me.

'You've broken the rules,' the head trainer barks at him. 'The President will decide what is to be done with you now.'

'So let him,' Torian answered, still not removing his gaze from me. 'I'm not afraid of anything.'

The Peacekeepers pull him away, but he goes freely enough, shooting me one last fleeting smile over his shoulder before turning his back to me completely. I shudder. The smile is practically identical to the smile he had given me on the morning of the Reaping.

More hands reach for me but I push them away. I start to walk, slowly at first, while I try to seize up my injuries, then faster, as I realise that they are not serious and as the weight of the startled looks of the other tributes starts to press down on my shoulders. I am fighting back the tears as I make for the lift for the apartments and I only just make it inside before I fall apart. As the doors slide shut, the first tears start sliding down my face. They are tears that sting of shame, of humiliation and shock.

_ You idiot, Emily. You blind, stupid, oblivious idiot. _My body shakes as I realise just how imbecilic I have been. Torian was never my friend. This was all his plan, right from the moment he stepped onto the Reaping stage with me. He would win my trust with his genteel, careful ways , then break me like an apple tree branch in an autumn storm and watch me die, alone and helpless. I had been foolish, vain even, to think that he would like me. He would have made me a fool, on national television, and my family would have seen me fail. But I wasn't going to let that happen.

As the lift rapidly approached floor 10, I stood up on shaky legs. My hands clenched into fists and anger flared in my chest like a fire beginning in the grate. Well, let him have this one moment of thinking he'd succeeded. It wasn't about to last long.

Let him think I was that apple tree branch. Let him think I had snapped. But I'd show him. I was Emily Greene and I wasn't going to let myself break that easily.


End file.
